


Autopilot

by LittleMissPixieStix



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Feels, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 20:50:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4579578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissPixieStix/pseuds/LittleMissPixieStix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Engineer got a letter a few days ago, and then he made a phone call.  After that, the team's barely seen him because of all the time he's spent down in his workshop.  He's been avoiding everyone, and they can't help but wonder:</p><p>What's wrong with Engie?</p><p>You'll have to read this to find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Autopilot

**Author's Note:**

> Fic originally posted here: http://littlemissfemscout.tumblr.com/post/126752004332/auto-pilot  
> Likes or reblogs on tumblr, if you've got one, would be appreciated but are by no means required. =)

Dell knew he wasn’t reacting to the news well. He knew the team was getting worried about him, with good reason, but he didn’t know what else he could do. 

He had been spending far too much time down in his workshop, sleeping and eating down here. He hadn’t spoken to anyone in days, not really. 

They’d come down to talk, some of them had, and he’d nod and listen, but never give much of a reply. There were the “alrights”, the “okays”, and the “got’chas”, but he said that more to tell the other person he was acknowledging their words, not that he was going to listen to what they were saying.

Even Spy seemed to be getting worried about him. Then again, that spook probably knew what was wrong. 

Spy probably knew that the Engineer’s mother had been killed in a twister on the ranch a few days back. He probably knew that the funeral had come and gone before Dell was even told that she was dead. He probably knew all of that.

And still the Engineer couldn’t bring himself to stop working. If he stopped working, then he’d have to face the reality that she was dead. If he stopped working, then he’d crumble and break down. There was too much emotion here for him to be able to function right if he acknowledged it.

So he didn’t. 

He just stayed on auto-pilot.

Emotion was never a favorite thing of his, especially not when it was as awful as this. Emotions like this hit a body too hard, caused a mind too much stress. They were tricky things, and it was impossible to account for every variable involved. There was no formula to get a desired end result, and no amount of work would give one, no matter how much you tried.

That’s why he loved math. 

Math and science, the two of them were fact based, and there was only one right answer to work for. There was no emotion involved in them, it was cold, clean, mathematics, with every answer having a solution you could work towards, and it was helping him cope.

Maybe it wasn’t healthy that he picked a blueprint to be his self-help book, but the instructions were much easier to follow this way. They didn’t involve looking at himself or his situation, they didn’t involve looking at the world around him, they just involved looking at the print and then following along step-by-step. 

The twist of a bolt was much more comforting then the way grief twisted him up, a wrenching a bolt loose was better than the gut-wrenching truth. It was easier to repair a sentry then it was to repair his life. It was easier to build a teleporter than it was to start the rebuilding process he knew he’d need.

That might be the reason that he found working with tools so calming, therapeutic even. Because he was in total control, because he could something out of nothing. He could make something useful, he could make something strong, he could make an immovable force to be reckoned with, he could fix a mistake with just a might bit or reworking. 

In here, he was in charge of everything and anything that happened, so there were no unwanted, emotional, or damaging, surprises.

His workshop felt like the safest place to be. It was quiet, save for sound of him working, and calm. The walls were a dull concrete gray, and the room was dark except for the lamps his had illuminating the area. It felt separate from the world, like time had stopped down here. 

This was his safe place, as long as he stayed focused on his work, then he was going to be alright. 

He’d be in denial, but he’d also be alright. 

As he slid his hand over a small sheet of metal, and saw his miserable, tired reflection in the cold material, he knew this couldn’t last forever. He couldn’t keep hiding from the feelings, the truth, or, hell, even himself. 

He’d have to put down the shield that his work provided and face it. He’d have to face her death, the fact that he missed her funeral, the fact that he hadn’t been there to help, the fact that he wasn’t sure what his last words were her to...

Maybe staying down here and working wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

But the team needed him and he needed them. There was no arguing with that, no denying it either. They were family out here, they cared for each other. Dell himself had even told Scout that the others were there for him when one of his brother’s car wrecks started eating him up.

So why was it so hard for him to do the same? 

He had team mates up there that wanted to help, that were concerned for him. Pyro had popped down a few times. Heavy, Spy, Sniper, and Scout had as well, once or twice. Soldier had once, but he caused too much of a disturbance, maybe that was how he showed concern, so Engineer had all but kicked him out. The man had yet to return. 

Demo and Medic had made the most trips down, both worried in there own way. Medic tried to talk and get Engineer to do the same, whether it was about what he was working on or what was wrong, while Demo had offered silence, giving Dell room to talk if he wanted. It seemed like they missed the third member of their science buddy trio, and they were trying to help him get back to a better place.

Each team member, in their own way, had offered some sort of reassurance before they left, even if they didn’t know what was wrong. Even if he didn’t say anything in reply, he didn’t trust himself to speak, he appreciated each and everyone of those words his team mates left him with.

Actually, now that Dell thought about it, he knew what his last words to his mother had been, the same as the always had been.

“Love ya’, momma, take care of yourself.”

That’s what he always ended their conversations with, even if they were fighting, even if they were angry at each other. He always made sure that those were the last words he said to her. Whenever he said them, she would always reply with

“You too, Dell.”

He did need to take of himself, better care than whatever this was. Ignoring a problem wasn’t taking care of anything, it was just going to make things worse. 

Starting to look at it logically, he started to look at himself like he were one of his machines. If there was something wrong with the delicate insides of his sentry, would he keep using it? If the teleporter was having difficulty, would he keep placing it out on the field?

No, he knew better than that.

If there was a problem with his machine, then he’d give it a break and try to figure out what was wrong before it got worse, he wouldn’t keep pushing it to function when it clearly wasn’t working right.

So why couldn’t he do the same for himself? Why could he not step back away from the blueprints and deal with the pain inside? If he kept ignoring it, and pretending that everything was fine, it was just going to become worse.

Tears started to wet his eyes and he could feel his nose already start to run. He knew why he didn’t want to step away from his desk. There had already been some crying, that was unavoidable, but mostly he had just felt numb. 

Was it a good thing to feel numb? 

When your other option was the be flooded with grief, then the answer was an unfortunate yes.

Feeling this numb was his own doing, he knew. The small, menial tasks he had kept supplying himself with had kept his mind busy. Busy enough to at least not think about that his mother had actually died. Busy enough not to feel anything or worry about anything other than the task at hand.

But it had been days now, two or three already, if not four or five. He had no idea how many days had passed, he had just been in his own world down here, a wonderfully numb one filled with to the brim with work, which left no room for emotion.

It was time to leave this mechanical world of his. He had things to go face, to stop ignoring, and it was time to do that now.

He put down the screwdriver, rolled up the blueprint, and stood up. Then, stretching his stiff legs, he climbed the stairs, shielding his eyes as he trudged to the brighter world above and left his dark hole of a room behind. 

Now was the time to get back to his team, to stop their worrying, and to stop neglecting everyone and everything up there. He needed to go talk to the others, to explain what had been going on for the last few days, to get some help, to thank them for what they had said and done. 

He needed to get back to caring for the team. He also needed to start taking care of himself now.

After all, his Momma did always know best.


End file.
